


Bloom in Spring

by Azar443



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, No-Maj Reader, Plus-Sized Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azar443/pseuds/Azar443
Summary: It's a quiet Spring morning when you receive an unexpected visit at your little flower shop.





	Bloom in Spring

Spring brings with it the fragrant smell of blossoming flowers and the soft sighs of a cooling breeze. You draw in a deep breath, feeling the refreshing air wash through your lungs as you move out of your shop with fresh flowers in your hands. The sun is out, and it warms the skin on your face while you remove the yellowing flowers from the display stands. It’s always quiet in the morning; your shop is some ways off the busy streets of the city centre, and the only visitors you get in the morning is the old lady who always stops by for a chat, and the young man who buys a small bunch of assorted flowers for his mother each day. Your quaint flower shop in a quiet corner that is shaded by a lovely tree with fluttering purple petals to the floor isn’t the largest flower shop in New York, nor is it wildly successful, but you’re happy with the way it is.

You tug at your sleeve a little, trying to loosen the material that is pulling at your flesh uncomfortably. You swear silently; why you had to choose to wear this tighter cardigan today, you have no idea. The way the material clings to your figure makes you feel self-conscious, and although you’ve long come to terms that you’ll never look like those slender models with legs for days, you still wish you’re slimmer, prettier,  _better_. Shaking your head free of the cobwebs of dark thoughts, you finish replacing the wilting flowers and make to enter your shop, when a hesitant voice calls out to you.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You turn and are faced with a handsome man in a dark coloured coat, standing somewhat awkwardly before you. He makes for a distinguished figure, with the slight silver close to his temples, and the faint lines that gather around his eyes and mouth. You can tell he’s nervous, for some unfathomable reason, and you smile reassuringly at him, which draws a twitch of his lips.

“May I help you with anything, Sir?”

There’s a flicker of something in his dark eyes, and when he stares for a minute too long, your hand subconsciously moves to tug your cardigan down, wishing that you had worn something more loose-fitting. You don’t know that he’s actually entranced by your lilting voice. You tilt your head, ready to repeat your question when he clears his throat and mumbles  _something_. There’s a frown on your face as you lean forward, “I beg your pardon?”

He’s fidgeting like a schoolboy called to the Headmaster’s office, and you think it’s endearing, how such an imposing man can radiate such anxiety. You see though, that his eyes are drawn to some vibrantly coloured orchids, and you smile, because he’s probably here to buy some flowers for his sweetheart. Gathering some of the fresh flowers in a bunch, you throw a question to him over your shoulder, unknowing of his stare on the way the sun glinted off your hair.

“Do you think your sweetheart will like these orchids, Sir? They’re really fresh and anyone would love to receive them as a gift.”

The man starts a little, and smiles sheepishly at you as you presented the flowers to him. “Actually, they’re not for my sweetheart, and ah, I hope you don’t think me too forward in saying this, but I was wondering if it would be well.” He stutters a little, gesturing towards you, “If you’d mind if I gave these flowers to you.” You blink, clearly thrown off by what he’s just said, and picking up on your hesitation, he rushes to make amends, “My apologies if I’ve offended you, it’s just, you looked so lovely arranging the flowers, and I couldn’t help but want to speak to you.” A bright flush spreads across his cheeks, and you feel your own face burn up similarly. You’re extremely flattered; he’s a handsome man who doesn’t seem like a serial killer or psychopath as far as you can tell, and his awkward mien is very attractive.

Sticking your right hand out, you smile brightly at him, to which he returns a dazzling smile that crinkles the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. You introduce yourself to him, and Percival Graves’ grip is warm and solid on your hand, and you find yourself blushing under his gaze. You’re a little annoyed; you don’t normally blush like a little girl when meeting handsome men, and you like to think you have more dignity than to simply succumb to any men who expresses any interest in you. But there’s something about Percival’s dark stare and his smile that’s not quite there, that draws you in like a sailor to a siren. It is with shy smiles from the both of you, that you invite him into your little shop with the promise of a good, strong cup of Joe and conversation.

He ends up staying until it’s noon, and waves away any concerns that he needs to be at work. You learn a little about the quiet, enigmatic man; about how he works in law enforcement and never has a day off because he doesn’t think his subordinates will survive it, about how he’s a quiet man but with a wit sharp as a tack, and he has you laughing at the wry comments he makes that brim with intelligence. You also learn about the little things he doesn’t tell you about, of the way his eyes dart towards the door with wariness whenever there’s a sound, and how his fingers constantly flex and twitch nervously. He bears resemblance to a skittish horse, uncomfortable with anything that could possibly pose a threat to him. You say nothing of it, only slipping your hand into his and coaxing a small smile from him. It’s guarded and haunted, but it’s a smile that lights up his tired face and you think he couldn’t look any more handsome then.

He’s attentive and actually interested in what you have to say, even as you ramble along about why you decided to open up your little shop, or how flowers always manage to bring a smile to your face, even in the darkest of days. You don’t know this, but when you tell him that your favourite flowers are daisies and that you love the colour yellow because it reminds you of spring, he’s taking note mentally, making sure to surprise you with a bouquet of the loveliest yellow daisies he can find the next time he sees you. There’s a pause as he realises that he’s already thinking of the next time he meets you, and the next and the next, and he thinks he’s getting ahead of himself, but you’re intriguing with a sense of self-deprecation and bubbly optimism that he finds himself drinking in greedily.

When he leaves, he kisses you on the cheek and tells you, with a startling amount of tenderness in his voice, that he would like to court you, if you’d let him. You’re surprised, and you automatically blurt out the first words that come to mind, “Why me?” There’s amusement in his eyes as he leans in and brushes away strands of hair that have come loose, framing your face, “Why _not_  you? You’re beautiful, funny and honest, and I’d like to see you again”, his smile drops a little, “Only if you’d like, of course.” He’s an enigma, Percival Graves. Confident in one minute, and shy and timid as a child the next, and you’re completely intoxicated by his guardedness and the spark of  _something_  in his eyes, and you’d be a fool to say no to seeing him again. Reaching out, you straighten his collar and smile brilliantly at him, “Well, who am I to say no to you, Mr Graves?” He grimaces and instinctively, brings a hand to rest gently on your hip, “Percival, please. I’ve had enough of people calling me Mr Graves.” You fidget slightly at his warmth on your hip, wishing, not for the first time, that your body had less meat on you, and that you looked more like a model than well,  _you_. He picks up on this, and tilts your chin up, “You’re gorgeous to me, never forget that.” Pressing a kiss onto your head, he leaves with a promise to visit you again.

The flower shop is quiet when he leaves, but when you close the shop to leave for home, you leave with the taste of his promise on your lips, and when you go to bed at night, it’s filled with anticipation of seeing Percival Graves again the next day, and you know what? You think you’re fine with being curvy and beautiful.


End file.
